


A Bottle of Moët

by thevalesofanduin



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M, SPECTRE Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 09:24:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5780410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevalesofanduin/pseuds/thevalesofanduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q's flat is home and James knows that after everything - Madeleine - he might’ve fucked it up quite spectacularly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bottle of Moët

**Author's Note:**

> After seeing that bottle of Champagne (it could've been wine, really, but who is paying attention?) James left in lieu of the car, this scene has been begging to be put down onto paper... Because Q and James deserve this ending a lot more than the one the movie gave them.

Q’s flat is home.

It’s always been, from the moment he started invading the younger man’s privacy up to the moment when he comes back to MI6.

It’s been an awful two years and James doesn’t want anything more than to forget all about it.

Skyfall, losing M, Blofeld and Madeleine… Truly, the only good thing that has happened was meeting Q.

Q with his witty remarks, unafraid of him and quite able to resist his charms. With his designer clothes that look so _not_ designer James sometimes feels like either crying or taking Q to a tailor – but apparently, it’s a style. Q with his tea that’s more sugar than anything else, his fascination with Indian takeout even though the man can cook like a dream. Q with his modern flat, books and new inventions littering one side of the big loft while the other side is dominated by the biggest, most comfortable couch James has ever encountered. With his kitchen fully stocked with things James loves, extra toothbrush in the bathroom and a picture wall above the bed that now also has photos of James pinned to it.

But they’re not dating and they’re most definitely _not_ living together, even though James does end up on Q’s couch more nights than not.

They’re not dating, James would know if they were and he’s quite sure they’re not as they haven’t even kissed.

He still keeps his own flat, his own address and so they’re not in any way involved in anything other than friendship.

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself when he comes slinking back to Q’s flat after he’s dropped Madeleine off at London Heathrow.

Perhaps he’s lying to himself, trying to fool himself but it’s better than thinking he might’ve actually cheated in one way or another on the best thing that’s happened to him in a long time.

But when he enters Q’s building, gives a quick wave to the doorman who recognizes him easily, he can’t help but realize that he _has_.

They might not have kissed and they might not have shared a bed but it’s the closest thing to a relationship James has ever had.

And as he gets the keys to Q’s – their, Q once said – flat out of his pocket it almost feels wrong to go inside.

Q deserves better, doesn’t he?

Deserves a man who doesn’t run off with the first woman that says she loves him because he’s terrified of returning home to the man that actually holds his heart. Deserves more than always having to worry if his lover will come home this time. Deserves –

Q’s front door clicks open and the soft sound is like a bomb going off in the silent hallway.

James, standing just a step away from the now opened door, keys in his hands, can only gape up at Q.

Q who is wearing his pyjamas – it is after midnight, after all – with the cutest bed-hair James has ever seen and a tender yet amused expression on his face.

“Evening, Bond.” He greets casually.

James can’t help but blink, look at Q and for the first time since he can remember is speechless. Because seeing Q, seeing that tenderness in the other’s eyes and the relief in sagged shoulders as Q leans against the door frame, he knows.

This is the man he loves and will forever love.

And he might’ve fucked it all up spectacularly.

“Q,” he manages.

Q huffs, rolls his eyes and turns his back to James, sauntering back inside. He leaves the door open and when after a few seconds he’s already halfway down his loft and James is still just standing there he turns. “Do come inside and close the door. You’re letting the cold in and heating this place in the middle of winter is already expensive enough. No need to pay for the neighbours as well.”

James shoves the keys back into his pocket – because he’ll be damned to return them if Q isn’t asking – and walks inside.

But rather than comfortable, he feels akin to insecure as he hangs up his coat.

Feels a little lost as he looks around the familiar space.

Can’t help but yearn for Q now that he sees the other standing at his kitchen block, boiling water for tea.

“I’m a fool,” he mumbles.

Q laughs. “Well, yes.” He turns around, leans his hip against the counter and he watches James with sparkling eyes.

Happy eyes and a relieved smile.

It’s pitiful, but James wants to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry,” he says eventually. He’s not good at this, knows all the words to seduce a target but does not possess the eloquence to apologize to this special man.

Q seems to deflate at those words. His shoulders sag, a sigh passes his lips and he looks tired. “You should be.” He gives James a pointed look – the ones where he looks so tough but when James really looks into Q’s eyes he can see the whirlwind of emotions. “You deserve a happily ever after more than anyone for merely surviving this long. But it would’ve been appreciated if you’d at least stayed long enough to clean the mess. MI6 has been in disarray. Still is, not to mention Moneypenny and myself should thank M’s persuasion powers for not being fired.”

James feels like he’s been punched in the gut at _that_ reminder and, perhaps for the first time, feels like he can’t hold Q’s gaze. He drops his eyes to the floor, guilt clenching in his gut. “You sacrificed so much by just trusting me. I’m not sure if I can ever repay such trust.”

“Moneypenny likes Jimmy Choo and Tiffany.” Q shrugs, like giving their trust and putting their careers – and perhaps their freedom, too – is nothing.

“And you?” James asks carefully, raises his eyes because this he wants to know.

He’ll do anything to in some way repay Q.

For a moment, Q seems to consider his options before wrapping his arms around his torso. “I’d like for you to never get rid of the Smart Blood.” He mutters and, eyes on James, strides over to the other man. He has a thoughtful frown etched onto his face and a passion in his eyes when he reaches out a finger to stroke the lines right next to James’ left eye. “Perhaps I’ll design a chip to go in there so I can see what you see. I never want to be blind again like I was with Blofeld. Not when it comes to you.”

James holds his breath, feels an enormous wave of both guilt and love towards this man right now that he can’t think of a reply. “Q…”

Q laughs. “Shut up, Bond.” He chides and then, James’ cheeks in the palms of his soft hands, he kisses James.

His lips are chapped – it’s winter after all – and the kiss is too rough to be called gentle, to needy to be romantic. Q’s fingers dig into James’ cheeks and there is a part of his glasses that feels awkwardly stuck between them. 

But it’s Q and it’s perfect and James loses himself in the kiss entirely.

 

They almost naturally migrate to the couch where Q just drops himself down and James is quick to pull him close.

“Tea?” Q asks, suddenly remembering the water he boiled.

James laughs. “Really, Q? You have nothing stronger?”

“How about some champagne, then.” Q offers and waves a hand to one of the shelves next to the TV, on it a familiar bottle.

James falters at the sight of the bottle. “You… I gave that to you.” Because bribe or not, _he_ gave it to Q.

“Hardly a fair trade for the car. She was a beauty and all you could do was dump her into the river, very disrespectful I daresay not even mentioning the amount of money you drowned together with that car.” Q tries to sound mournful, tries to pout but it only serves to make him look impish.

“Which you made for me.” James points out smugly. 

“Well, yes.” Q says, just a tiny bit embarrassed.

James smirks and kisses Q.

“You kept the champagne.”

“Of course.” Q harrumphs in James’ arms, leans his head against the other’s chest and grins up at him. “I did consider drinking it by myself when they told me you’d left MI6.”

_Left me_

The words hang in the air but Q waves it off with a laugh.

“I didn’t, though. Retirement is not for you, at least not yet. I knew you’d return.”

It’s easy to say that it’s for MI6.

An easy out he can take if he wishes to and Q hands it to him on a silver platter.

But when James looks at the man in his arms, the silly grin on his face and the love in his eyes he thinks he’d be a fool to take that road.

He’s never been one for easy anyway.

“For you, I’ll never leave again.”

Q’s delighted laughter is pure gold.


End file.
